Blood Letting

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Part II: Desiderata

A glass rose is not real.But what we often times overlookIs that what is not real,Is not always the most sturdy.It cannot feel, therefore it has nothing to weather.It cannot know pain, and so, cannot overcome it.It is far more fragile than a real rose,When one little crack can cause it to splinter;Broken forever, and never to be healed by time.

By the time I step through our front door the sun has well-hidden itself beneath the horizon, the sickle-moon replacing it with a luminescent glow. A glow that offers no warmth to speak of, merely radiates that cold, silver brilliance. The trip to Genkai's compound, the stay there, and the return, has occupied most of my day. And now it is late, and undoubtedly my family has already retired for the evening.

A blessing in disguise. Now I will not have to answer any questions, at least.

As I had suspected, the house is silent when I walk through the downstairs, en route to the second floor and my room. Everyone has already turned themselves in for the endless night. Not wanting to wake them myself, I am slow in getting up to the second landing, avoiding making too much noise.

I draw myself into my bedroom and close the door quietly.

Everything is so quiet, so calm. So utterly peaceful.

Everything except my own mind, at least.

Ever since Botan saw me, her disbelieving voice and sorrowful, horrified eyes have been imprinted in the recesses of my currently blank mind. No matter how I try to get my thoughts off of them, I cannot erase her expression, and cannot mute her voice.

Perfect. More to add to my displeasure.

First, I am resigned to resolving my conflicting emotions regarding the very lie of a life I live. Second, I have to deal with the sudden, untimely, and unjust, death of one of my greatest mentors, and the turmoil this causes for me; never mind that everyone else will undoubtedly come to me in their mourning as well. After all, it has never stopped them before — I do not see it stopping them now.

I have always been — always will be, as far as I can see — the one of our ramshackle group that my companions come to when they are struggling with life. I am the stable one. The strong one. The knowing one. The one who can handle my own tangled existence as well as the burdens that my friends dump on my shoulders regularly.

I can handle their problems because I overlook my own.

But now, in light of this, not any longer.

I have my own problems to face.

My own grief to overcome.

And my own guilty conscience to quell.

Not only have I unwittingly hurt the one woman who holds my heart by lying to her these last years of my mortal existence, but now I have to deal with Botan as well. The expression in her eyes is one I am not likely to soon forget.

On the note of Botan, what could be written on that piece of paper?

With my mind so clouded in disbelief, anger, sadness, and guilt at the events of this arduous seemingly 48-hour long day, I almost forgot about the slip of paper she had dropped. Actually, I am prone to believe she more threw it at me than anything. Just discretely, I suppose.

Of course, I cannot be one hundred percent certain that it was dropped intentionally, and there is no way I can know if she intended for me to see it, much less pick it up. There is no way I can know if I am even the one the note is intended for. But of course, it is much too late for such speculation, because the fact is: I did pick it up. That clearly gives me every right to see what is written upon it.

Does it not?

Regardless, curiosity is a token that often times should not be left unappeased.

So I shall look upon the note.

I retrieve the note from my pocket and gaze at it briefly, contemplating whether or not I should appease my own curiosity by reading it, or hold on to the little fragment of respect that Botan might still have in me, by not reading it.

She has more than likely lost all Faith in me after tonight.

Really though, who can blame her? I most certainly cannot. She has every right.

So, no harm can come from reading the paper.

True.

And, in that mindset, having settled on the first of my two options, I begin to unfold the note, marveling at how warm the paper is. I suppose, having been nestled within the confines of my safe pocket for such a length of time would be the cause. Nonetheless, the peculiar warmth of such an inanimate object is surprising.

Or perhaps I have just forgotten what it means to appreciate little blessings.

I shrug, continuing to unfold it. Once I unfold the center crease another paper slips from its bindings; drifts to the floor like a delicate white petal on a spring breeze. Whatever she had been writing was not exactly short, I can see. I pick up the fallen paper and position it behind its successor, settling myself casually onto my bed in order to read it through.

The thought processes of other people has always intrigued me. Reading first-hand Botan's own words will surely gift me with a better understanding of her.

And so I turn to the note, mildly surprised at her handwriting. Small, yet not cramped, and very neat. Somehow, I have always thought Botan's writing would be something short of illegible. But I have no right to criticize, as I merely jumped to a false bound conclusion. So utterly judgmental of me. How utterly, disgustingly, human of me.

Has my humanity really become so far entrenched?

Shaking the displeasing notion from my mind, I begin to read her writing:

"Kurama,

"As much as I'd like to say I'm shocked at what I saw, I can't. Because, well… because I know you. Maybe not that well, but your character. Don't think I don't notice when everyone comes to you with their problems. We all have before. Hiei, on more than his share of occasions. Yuusuke, whenever he and Keiko are fighting. Keiko, whenever she and Yuusuke fight. Kuwabara, always about Yukina…. Even me. We all come to you with our problems."

"Maybe I'm writing this because I feel guilty. You never, ever complain when we come to you with our problems. In fact, you're always there. But… you don't have anyone to go to yourself, do you? You can't say you don't have anyone to go to because you don't have problems; we all do. That's life. But, maybe that's just it. You don't have anyone to go to. Maybe, I feel guilty because we drove you to this point. You can't deny it — I saw what you did."

"And really, a part of me can't blame you for what you did. What right do I have? You deal with our problems for us, and have no time to handle your own. That's why you did it, isn't it? As an outlet for your own burdened soul?"

"What I just don't get is, why couldn't you say something? We're your friends; we come to you for whatever, and we can return the favor. We should in spades, but we can't. And part of it's not because we don't want to help you; but you won't seem to let us. Why? Haven't we earned at least that much trust from you? (Do I even want to know the answer?)"

"Why would you resort to something so stupid as to cut yourself instead of talking to one of us? We all felt close to Master Genkai; we all grieved the first time she was killed by that egotistical, maniacal, psycho-of-a-human called Toguro. And now, we're all grieving again for the second time. All of us are. Why couldn't you grieve with us? Why couldn't you talk about it? Why did you resort to something like cutting yourself?"

"I know you're hurting. We all are. But what good is hurting yourself even more going to do? Feeling pain is a normal reaction in times like this. Maybe you don't understand that because you've been struggling against your humanity since it became an obstacle. Maybe you do know pain. I don't know. But, you shouldn't deal with it like this. It's dangerous."

"Maybe you do it because you don't want Youko to realize you've let emotion into your life. Maybe it's because you don't want to talk, or maybe you're scared to talk. Is that why? Because you think that if we see you grieving, we'll see you as weak? We all come to you with our problems, and seeing you as the weak one for once wouldn't do that justice would it?"

"I really don't know why you did it. I guess I don't know you as well as I'd like to think I do. But, then again, that's how you work, isn't it? You just won't let people get close to you. I know it's probably your first instinct to keep distanced from us, and I understand that — really, I do. I just don't want to believe it, because you should know now that you can come to us for anything. It's what friends do. I thought you knew that. But I guess you don't."

"I guess that's what really hurt me the most. The fact that you can't be honest with us about your own feelings. I don't care what they say; you have them. You're as human as the rest of us, and you have every right to grieve like us. But, you don't get that do you? You don't think you have the right, do you? And I guess that's why you did it — you hurt yourself— because you think it's the only thing you do have right to. Don't deny it, you can't. Because I know you don't think you belong here."

"I don't get that either. Why do you feel so guilty? We all have things in our pasts we wish we could hide or forget, but we can't. But, we move on, and we all belong here. That's why we're here in the first place. Would we be here at all if we didn't belong here? Think about it."

"We all have ties to this place, and as long as we have a common thread binding us here, we have a right to be here. And we always, always have the right to live. I wish you could understand that. Life is a precious thing; it should be cherished. And you're not. You're willing to throw the whole thing out just like that. And, I guess, that's what I don't understand. How could anyone's life be so bad that it seems better to have no life at all? Life is still life."

"I… I just want to tell you… that… when I saw your wrist — your blood — It really hurt me. Because, I really thought that I was your friend. Someone you could trust, and come to. But, I guess I was wrong, wasn't I? Why won't you let your shields down? You won't let people care about you, and more than anything, that's a stupid mistake on your part."

"More than anything… what I saw really scared me… People want to care about you, and whether you want them to or not, some people do anyway… I do. And when I saw you tonight… I got scared. Don't you understand what you're doing? Don't you know how much you're hurting the people around you by hurting yourself?"

"I don't know why you decided to cut yourself, I don't think I'll ever find out, because as much as I wish you would open up to me as a friend and show a little faith in me, I know you won't. And I have to accept that. But still, just because I don't know why you decided to do it, doesn't mean I won't keep hoping you'll tell me."

"What you're doing — I don't condone it. You're hurting yourself, and I'll never condone it. But, I do think I know why you do it. The way your life has been, you have more right than most of us. But, that doesn't make it right. Because it never will be. Still, I can't stop you. The choice is up to you, so I can't do anything about it anyways…"

"I know you hurt, I know you grieve. You're exactly like the rest of us, even if you don't show it. You know, I was once told that the essential sadness is to go throughout life without loving… And until now, I don't think I ever understood that. But, maybe that's why you're doing this. Because you feel alone, because you have no one to go to. Because you don't think people should care about you; love you. Something. I don't know."

"The way I see it, though, it's equally sad to leave this world without ever telling the people you love that you love them. So, think about that. Please, think about that… because… maybe it'll give you reason to go on… Maybe… Who really knows?"

"Kurama… I don't care who you are — what you are. But I will always love you as a friend for whomever you chose to be, or become. I speak for everyone when I say that. We're your friends; we love you no matter what; that won't change. So, you really shouldn't worry."

"Tonight what I saw; I didn't want to. But thinking on that — I'm happy I did see it. You see, what you did, it proves that you truly are as human as we all are. It showed you have weakness, you have doubt; you have fear and sadness. I wish I could've seen this all in another way, but I didn't. But, it's still proof enough that you're not immortal. I guess we'd to well to remember that, huh?"

"I don't like what I saw, it scared me, and always will. But still, I won't betray your trust so easily. It's probably just as wrong for you to cut yourself as it is for me not to tell anyone. But I'm not going to. That's your job; if you really want people to know, you'll let them. It's not my job. So, I won't tell anyone. I promise."

"Whether you see it or not, you are my friend. I won't lose faith in you, because the way I see it, you've already lost faith in yourself if you've had to resort to this. So someone else losing faith in you too is only going to make this worse. I won't give up on you, even if you've given up on yourself. I never will."

Always here,

Botan"

I find it hard to believe she could have written all of this in such a small time period, but I guess she had. Of course, she must know how to write fast, seeing as she always has case files and mission reports to write for the Junior Ruler of the Reikai himself. It fits, I suppose.

But despite the fact that she probably rushed the words onto the paper — some of the finer letters bear ink smudges that my deft eyes quickly pick up on — her words themselves do not sound at all type-faced, like she wrote them forcedly. They sound sincere, modest. I can almost here her voice reading the letter as I look over the pages again. And her voice sounds wounded, as though my actions might have truly scared her.

That would well explain the amount of watermarked print. She had been crying as she wrote this. I can tell: t he salty residue of her tears clings to the paper, and it leaves a musty smell on the page.

Sometimes, I hate my sensitive nose for being able to tell such things. Most times, I would rather not know to begin with. Knowledge is not always power. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss.

But that in itself is another mystery to me. Why would she have been crying? Does she truly know me well enough for my actions to warrant such a heart-wrenching reaction? I doubt it. She and I are simply acquaintances. Colleagues working together on no more than a partner-like level during missions. She does not know me well. Yet the tear stains on the papers speak plainly for themselves.

Yet, the fact remains: whether or not she knows me well does not matter. She had still cried.

She shed tears for my sake.

Even when she had neither grounds to, nor the right to. She still cried because of me.

That does not really help ease my spirit.

If nothing else, it makes me feel worse. Because now I have to deal with this note. Botan made it clear that what I did had hurt her, when it had no reason to affect her at all. Now, on top of my own feelings to work through, I have to deal with hers as well.

All this time I tried to avoid other peoples problems for once. Now look what it has gotten me.

For all my efforts, I have come back around full circle, still stuck in dealing with other people's emotions before my own.

I suppose Karma is not the only thing that travels with the distinction of a boomerang back to the person who summoned it.

I sigh, folding the papers carefully and tossing them onto my desk, where they land with a resounding scratchy noise from paper hitting wood.

For once, it appears that my token curiosity would have done better not appeased.

I suppose the saying holds true: curiosity really did kill the cat.

Or in my case, the fox.

I chuckle slightly at my own string of misfortune. The Fates really do not like me, do they? I muse. It is just as well. That is how things should be. Seems the Fates are the only ones knowing enough to understand that, however.

I pull on my sleepwear and lie on top of the covers. As much as I wish for sleep to grip me, and send me spiraling into the peace that is unconsciousness, sleep seems the farthest thing from my mind at the present hour.

Of course, it is always convenient like that. The things that you desire never do seem to come to you when you need them. Only when you don't want them do they make their appearance.

How utterly typical.

Still, I try valiantly to fall into sleep, though I would do as well to forget it. Sleep will not find me so long as I see Botan's expression in my mind, and hear her shaky voice echoing through my skull. The lines of her letter keep repeating themselves like a broken record within the empty vastness that has, as of late, taken over my mind, and with it, my thought process. As I lay here it is all I hear; indeed all I know, as it envelops my senses to the point where I can no longer hear even the crickets chirping from outside my opened window.

Kurama, I don't care who you are — what you are. But I will always love you for whomever you chose to be, or become. You're not immortal. I guess we'd to well to remember that, huh? I won't give up on you, even if you've given up on yourself. I never will…

The sound of her voice will not leave my ears, will not flee from my thoughts. Her anguish reels in my mind, voice a broken, teary whisper. Yet, I cannot clear my head, cannot drown out the mournful song she sings — cannot deaden the tearful echo of white noise that splinters my thoughts. I feel desperately that the Fates are being very cruel in their punishment of me by not granting me the simple release I desire into subconscious thought. Sleep is all I ask, and it is everything that I will not receive.

Haven't I done enough? Hasn't it gone on long enough?

I am never to have peace, it seems; never to have the tranquility I desire. When even

something so small and simple as sleep eludes me, it is obvious that there was no chance that something greater such as peace of mind will ever find me.

Nothing good ever seems to find me…

Maybe the Karma boomerang really is the culprit…

Perhaps my false bound humanity is the culprit…